


Piece by Piece

by Stratagem



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: AUs, F/M, In-Canon, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, various fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stratagem/pseuds/Stratagem
Summary: A series of prompt fills from Tumblr, mainly for Thunderblink, Eclaris, and possibly Tracklight (James Proudstar/Warpath x Alison Blaire/Dazzler). If the story can't fit into one of my other series, it will go here!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 6) “Don’t think for a moment you can manipulate me.” ; 11) “Do not lie to me.” ; 20) “You came back.”
> 
> Canon Divergent – What if Clarice came back right before John went to track her down? Like, he’s right about to head out the door then, BAM. I prefer the John-tracks-Clarice-down route and it works better, but yeah, for AU’s sake, let’s give this a try!

Hold up.

That’s Clarice sitting on the couch. 

John has to do a double-take to make sure he isn’t hallucinating or something. Is the mirage kid back? But no, it’s like Clarice never left. She’s on the couch again with Zingo whining in happiness and scrambling to get into her lap. There’s a bag on the ground, and her jacket is slung over the back of the couch, and when, exactly, did she return to HQ? And how had he missed it? Wouldn’t he have heard her portal? Then again, maybe she arrived outside of the bank…

He had been on his way out the door, ready to track her down, no matter how long it took. He had told the others that it was because Sentinel Services might pick her up again and somehow get her to spill where HQ was, but that was such a flimsy excuse. They all had to see through that. There were plenty of people out there who knew where HQ was. Clarice was just one of them. 

But she was the _only_ one he wanted to look for.

John had gone down to the vault room to see if he could pick up any trace of where she had gone. He definitely hadn’t expected to find Clarice herself down there, looking like she had never torn open a portal in the hallway and disappeared.

Except that big dent in the vault door is still there. John steps in front of it, hiding it as if she hasn’t seen it already. It’s not like she would guess that he did it after she left. Why, exactly, had he done that anyways? It was just frustration and stress, right?

Right.

He’s certain he has the most comically confused look on his face before he chases it away, schooling his expression into something a little calmer. A little more in control.

He puts a foot on the lip of the vault’s doorway, the one he literally jumped over a few days ago when she had disappeared. He hadn’t been able to get to her fast enough then.

“You came back.”

Clarice glances up at him and shrugs. “Apparently so.”

John resists the urge to grin, but the corners of mouth twitch. He’s just glad she’s back. That means she’s safe—

“I didn’t come back for you,” she says, her eyes narrowing.

John holds up his hands, though his chest tightens for some odd reason. “I didn’t think that was the case, seeing how I’m the one who chased you off.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you had some redheaded help,” Clarice says. She ruffles Zingo’s fur and tilts her chin up. “I came back for the dog.”

“Oh. Really.” He doesn’t believe that for a minute, but he’s curious about why she really did decide to come back. Actually, maybe it was Zingo, though he has a feeling it was because she’s gotten attached to the Underground. The kids love her, and so does Zingo, and yeah…

Hesitantly, he puts one foot down in the room and looks her in the eye. Checks to see if it’s okay if he comes in. When Clarice rolls her eyes, he steps all the way in and walks over to the chair beside the couch. “She missed you.”

_I missed you._

“It’s funny, you know,” Clarice says, her attention back on the dog, “How dogs don’t really expect anything from you except some food and a good belly rub now and then. It’s nice.” Her eyes are like lasers as she glances at him and he knows what she’s saying. That she wishes people were more like that, instead of using her for her powers, the way he and Sonia had.

He wishes he could take everything back. He wishes he could’ve stopped Sonia, wishes he had told Clarice the moment he realized what had happened, wishes he had figured out how to apologize better than he had. 

“I’m sorry, Clarice.” He doesn’t add any excuses, doesn’t try to talk his way out of it. “Really.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says softly.

“I’m not,” he says quickly, scooting to the edge of the seat. “Look, I can’t say enough times how sorry I am. Well, I could, but it would get ridiculous quick. And I wish I could make it up to you—” He holds up his hands again as she starts to cut him off. “But I know I can’t. And we can’t start over. So I’m just…hoping you’ll forgive me, someday. Not now, but…one day.”

There’s a long, drawn-out silence while he stares at her and she stares at the dog. It must be easier to look at Zingo than at him.

“I’ll think about it,” Clarice says, “But don’t think for a moment you can manipulate me, got it?”

He shakes his head. “I won’t. I swear.” He doesn’t want to do that to her ever.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Clarice curls up against the arm of the couch and scruffles Zingo’s fluffy fur. He takes that as his cue to get up and leave, not wanting to push her by overstaying his welcome. His hand holds onto the vault’s frame for a second and then he gives it a light smack before heading out. Tomorrow he’ll ask again if he can help her find whoever she’s looking for.


	2. Cake Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Number 8! "We don't have any time" 
> 
> Oh boy, this one screams angst at me… BUT. I am going to try to twist it to be goofy fluff. MWAHAHA. Have some flirty Thunderblink. Set a couple months down the road, timeline-wise, from where we are in the show.

“Do you have to laugh?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Clarice isn’t going to bother trying to smother her grin. It’s not her fault that John Proudstar, leader of the Underground, protector of the small and helpless, courageous and brave, is standing at the kitchen counter looking like he got into a fight with a bag of flour and lost. You know what, she’s pretty sure that’s actually what happened, judging by the amount of flour covering the whole kitchen.

“What are you doing?” she asks as she steps into the kitchen, wary, just in case any more bags of flour decide to explode.

“Making a cake.”

She stops. Huh. Why is she having trouble reconciling leader-y, military John with cake-baking. Really, he does just about everything around here, so why not add baker onto the list. “What for?”

“It’s Connor’s birthday today,” he said, mentioning one of the many kids that were currently living in the bank. “And all he wants is a cake.”

“And you’re the only one who can bake it?” She walked over and puts her hands on the countertop, burying them in the flour scattered there. “Somehow, and don’t take this the wrong way, I’m sure there’s someone more qualified to bake a cake than you are.”

“You’re definitely right.” He glances up at her, a chagrined look on his face. “But his friend Aaron dared me to make it, and I’m not losing a bet to a seven-year-old. Especially because he’s betting I won’t.”

Yeah, wagering against John was probably a bad idea. She leans over and looks at the recipe he’s working on. “I can finish this, if you want.”

“I’m the one with the bet, I have to finish it,” he says, taking it seriously even though it’s a bet from a kid. He glances up at her, grinning. His face is smudged with flour and it’s in his hair, and he’s quite possibly cuter now than he’s ever been before. It’s something about the domestic look. “But if you want to help, I’m all for it.”

“I guess I can save you from potential disaster,” she says, picking up the recipe. “Let’s see what damage you’ve already done.”

“Happy to see you have so much confidence in my baking skills.”

“I’m just surprised you haven’t set the kitchen on fire,” Clarice teases.

John shoves an escaped lock of black hair back behind his ear, getting more flour on his face. “Give it time. I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

Clarice smirks and focuses on the recipe. It doesn’t look too hard, and John’s almost halfway down with it. It didn’t look too bad just yet. “I think we can salvage this.”

“It’s not that bad,” John says, coming very close to a pout. Close, but not quite.

“All right, but hand me that pan, you need to flour it,” she says, gesturing to the blackened metal pan sitting on the counter. She pushes the bowl his way. “It still needs eggs and you need to stir it, right?”

“Yeah, I was getting there.” John picks up the bowl and a wooden spoon. All of the utensils in the HQ’s kitchen are mismatched and some are burnt or warped, whether from usage or getting caught in the crossfire of mutant powers. There’s actually a mobile of spoons hanging from the ceiling, decoration from a young telekinetic teen who decided to go all Neo on the silverware one day.

Clarice got the pan ready and watched as John finished stirring the batter. Once he finishes up, he pours it into the pan and she puts it into the oven that’s already pre-heated.

“Now we wait,” she says, leaning back against the counter. Or, she leans back until she realizes she’s getting flour all over her shirt. She steps away and brushes her hand against the white patch on her shirt. “John. Why is there flour everywhere.”

He actually looks a little embarrassed and Clarice has to look away because, hey, that’s cute, too. “I sort of misjudged how flimsy the bag was.”

“Isn’t everything flimsy to you?” She lifts an eyebrow at him and picks up a cloth from the counter, handing it to him. “Come on, let’s clean this up.”

“We should try to salvage some of it,” he says, “I don’t want to waste it.”

“We don’t have any time,” she says, “We broke the five second rule.”

“Guess you’re right.” He takes the rag and runs it under the faucet before turning back to her. He reaches out and brushes the cloth over her cheek. “You have some flour on you.”

She stands very still and keeps her eyes on him until he realizes how close he is. John steps back, gives her a long, steady look, and then becomes extremely interested in the oven. “Gotta make sure this doesn’t burn.”

“You—you do that.”

She’s pretty sure her cheek is on fire where he touched her, but hey, at least the cake won’t burn, right?

John Proudstar is so strange sometimes. You go on, Mr. Mixed Signals.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15: “It’s okay to cry, my love.”
> 
> Featuring sad!Clarice and comforting!John. <3

It was midnight when Clarice heard footsteps through the tall, long-neglected grass that had grown up around the abandoned house in the woods. The old farm hadn’t been sold yet, probably because no one wanted to buy a house where the kitchen was still stained with blood. The front door hadn’t been replaced since John had put his fist through it last year and a couple of windows had been broken, most likely by bored local kids daring each other to tempt fate and possible ghosts.

Last year. It seemed like so much more time had passed. It had been a long year, and she had the marks to prove it. The visible ones on her face, a diamond on her forehead, another slash under her left eye. A few on her arms and legs, little lines across her skin.

Then there were the marks that no one could see, the emotional scars that came from losing people, losing faith, regaining it, fighting for something that sometimes seemed so hopeless. She had more of these than any of the others.

Good things had happened, too. Like Aurora being born, a little blue-haired baby with Marcos’ big brown eyes and apparently Lorna’s temper. And she and John…well…that was a very good thing.

She pushed her foot against the ground, making the back porch swing rock backward. John was still walking toward her, crossing the backyard of the home she had lived in for a couple years. She could almost picture some of the younger kids racing around still, trying to catch the fireflies that danced in the treeline closer to sunset. Long-faded laughter echoed in her ears. If Clarice let her memory drift back to those days, she could hear Mama D singing as she folded laundry and Karl working on the old truck in the barn.

The steps creaked as John put a boot on the last one. “Want some company?”

“You wouldn’t leave anyways,” she said, but there wasn’t any no venom in her words, no snark. Just a simple statement.

“No, but I’d go wait in the truck.”

Far a while, the only sound came from the half-rusted chains of the porch swing and the way the boards groaned as John sat down on the steps. When the swing slowed down, Clarice put both feet on the ground and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“I know.” John leaned back, bracing himself on his palms. “But I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“But you’d still go sit in the truck if I wanted you to.”

John nodded, looking out at the yard and not at her. Of course he would.

Clarice wondered if he even had to track her to figure out where she was. It was a year to the day since they had last been to this house, so he might have just guessed. It wasn’t like she had been in a particularly good mood that whole day, but it had seemed like people knew to leave her alone. That was probably John’s doing.

“Fine.” Clarice scooted over to one side of the swing.

John got up and came over to sit beside her, looping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest.

The tears that she had been trying to hold back threatened again now that he was here. She had been doing a great job of not bawling and just thinking of her foster family, but having him here, and that safe feeling he brought, the comfort and sense of her new home…

“It’s okay to cry, love,” he said, his lips brushing her temple.

Clarice curled against him as he ran his fingers through her hair, and she allowed herself to cry again for a family she still felt like she had failed.


	4. Coffee Shop Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 - Character A is stuck working in coffee shop on Christmas Day and Character B is the lonely soul spending their whole day there.
> 
> Not set in any specific AU, but MAY HAVE INSPIRED A SPY AU later on, oh nooooooo….because I need more AUS D: but lol, then I can have my fake-married trope…MWAHAHA

Clarice pulled her bright green hat with elf ear farther down on her head in determination to be festive and rubbed drip stains off the counter. She had drawn the short straw that year. Once a year, right before Christmas, the whole coffee shop drew straws to see who would work on Christmas Day. Whoever the unlucky draw was always got a nice Christmas bonus, but it also meant they were stuck at the String Bean all day, making coffee and hot sandwiches. This year, it had been Clarice’s turn to pull the short straw.

Sometimes her co-worker Allen would volunteer to take Christmas since he didn’t celebrate it, but this year his family was going to be out of town on a ski trip, so there was no rescue for Clarice. Luckily, the shop was really slow on Christmas, so she could watch holiday movies and think about her drive home later that evening. She was going home to visit her foster family, and she was sure there would be tamales and a turkey and maybe a sweet potato pie and all sorts of other goodies. If she could just survive the day…

But she wasn’t alone. Since almost the moment she opened the shop, she had a customer, one who hadn’t left since plopping down in the corner. He had a laptop, a tablet, a book, and a persistent sad frown. He kept ordering black coffee, and he had devoured about three muffins and a turkey sandwich so far.

A few more customers came and went, one mocha and two chai lattes, plus a cranberry muffin. When they were gone, Clarice filled up another cup of black coffee and drew a sad face on it. Picking up a Santa cookie from the case, she headed over to the table in the corner that her solo customer had claimed and plunked down the coffee and the cookie.

He glanced up at her with warm brown eyes that were definitely not feeling in the Christmas spirit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order—”

“It’s on the house,” she said, “Black coffee.”

“And a Santa cookie,” he said, picking it up. He spun it around in his hand and looked at the cookie and its sparkly sprinkles.

“I’ve got a reindeer version if you have something against Kris Kringle,” she teased.

“No, this is great. Thanks,” he said as he put it down on the napkin. He glanced at his cup and ran his thumb over the sad face before looking up at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve looked pretty bummed the whole time you’ve been in here,” she said with a small nod, “And I even had on A Charlie Brown Christmas. That’s supposed to get at least a nostalgic smile out of everyone, but you didn’t even crack.”

He nodded and wrapped a hand around the coffee cup. “I was supposed to go home, but they canceled the flight because of the weather.”

“That sucks,” Clarice said sincerely. She leaned against the wall, her elf hat cushioning her head. “So you decided to spend Christmas in a coffee shop?”

“It was better than staying at the apartment all alone,” he said. He attempted a smile, and it looked pretty good on him, even if it was a weak one. “Is that dumb?”

“Obviously I’m also spending Christmas in a coffee shop, so it’s definitely not dumb,” Clarice said with a smirk.

His smile became more genuine, and she could safely say that he looked great when he smiled. “I guess that logic is flawless.” He held out a hand to her, and she took it. “I’m John.”

“Clarice,” she said and then sat down in the chair across from him, “So…do you want to pick the next movie? Since we’re stuck here? We have Netflix and Hulu, so you have options.” She grinned. “If you don’t pick a terrible movie, you can have another cup of coffee.”

His eyebrows raised and leaned back, leaving his laptop alone. “How about The Santa Claus?”

“With Tim Allen?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “No coffee for you.”

John gave a small laugh. “Okay, then what would you pick?”

“Gremlins.”

“What, no way,” he said, shaking his head, “Half the town dies, don’t they?”

“That’s an exaggeration…”

“They practically destroy Christmas.”

“How about we flip a coin for it?” Clarice said, “If it’s heads, we watch my bad Christmas movie. If it’s tails, we watch yours.”

John reached over to his computer bag, fishing around in the pocket. He pulled out a coin, set it on the table, and slid it over to her. “I’m game.”

She picked it up and then looked at it closer. “This isn’t a quarter. Where is this from?”

“Romania…” When she lifted an eyebrow, he shrugged. “I travel a lot.”

“All right, man of mystery.”


	5. Fake Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I invited you to Christmas dinner as my boyfriend/girlfriend so that my family would stop pestering me about being single, but we can keep this up until New Year’s, right? Au
> 
> Doesn’t take place in any specific, previously established AU. Exists off on its own in lovely AU land. <3 John and Clarice are in college, and it’s a modern AU but WITH mutant powers!

“Thanks again for doing this, John,” Clarice said as they headed up to the doorstep of her foster parents’ home, careful of the ice that was still clinging to the path. Beside her, one of her best friends from college was tagging along, carrying all of the presents besides one that was hanging off her arm.

“I think that’s the fifteenth time you’ve thanked me,” he teased, “It’s really not a problem.”

“It’s a little weird though, isn’t it?” she asked. She headed up the steps, offering a half-hearted glare at the eyes peeking through the blinds. Little hands immediately retreated and the blinds sprang back into place. “Asking you to pretend to be my boyfriend just so my mom leaves me alone?”

“It’s a clever defense, how’s that,” John offered.

She looked back at him, and he had a funny look on his face that she couldn’t exactly read. But he met her eyes, and the way he looked at her…He could melt the snow, his gaze was so intense. There was something between them, something that Clarice was hesitant to name, especially because she knew John was still recovering from a serious relationship. So whatever was going on between them, those lingering looks, that was going to have to wait. For now it was just going to have to be a ruse to get her family off her back.

The door flew open, and suddenly she and John were being yanked inside by over-eager hands and all the presents were pulled out of John’s arms. Her little foster siblings, the ones who were still at home, were super excited that she was back.

“Clarice! Clarice! Clarice, who’s that, is that your boyfriend, Mama D said you were bringing a boy, is that him?” Norah, Jessica, and Harper traded off questions, all of them swirling around Clarice, though Harper and Norah were calmer about it than Jessica.

“This is John, and yes, he is,” Clarice said with a nod and only somewhat strained smile.

“I am the boyfriend,” John said, sounding way more comfortable with those words than she thought he would.

She glanced at him, but she didn’t have a lot of time to study his expression as Mama D grabbed her for a hug. In Mama D’s arms, one of the littlest ones in the house, three-year-old Thea, leaned over and kissed Clarice’s cheek.

“It’s so good to see you,” Mama D said, beaming. Her smile grew even wider at the sight of John, who was currently being fawned over by the three younger girls. Mama D leaned closer, grinning at Clarice. “Well, isn’t he handsome.”

Clarice smiled, secretly agreeing with her. “Yeah, he’s okay,” she said with a smile.

Clarice’s family fawned over John the whole night, and he held up under their attention extremely well. He played with her younger siblings, dealt with David’s snarky comments, fended off her overprotective foster brother Remy, and still acted like the perfect fake boyfriend. He pulled out her chair for her, asked if she needed anything, and basically was a gentleman the entire evening. When they sat on the couch and endured a serious grilling from Karl, John took her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles while answering all of Karl’s questions about school, his own family, and his plans for after college.

At the end of the evening, he was on the floor, playing with four-year-old Eli and his puzzles while Jessica kept putting a Santa Hat on his head. Eli kept pulling the hat off John’s head to put on his own head, which made Jessica annoyed. Clarice had a sleeping Thea in her own lap, cuddling the warm, squishy three-year-old close.

He was really good with the kids. It was sort of amazing how they took to him like that… They all came from tough backgrounds and had wound up at Karl and Mama D’s foster home because their parents couldn’t handle mutants. John didn’t seem to have any problems winning them over, except for Remy and David.

When John was heading out for the evening, Clarice stopped him on the front porch, her hand resting on his wrist. “Hey…do you want to go to that New Years Eve party at school as my fake boyfriend?” she asked, giving him a smile, “You did a great job tonight…”

He sighed, his breath making a white cloud in the air. “Actually, I was hoping to do something else that night.”

“Oh…” Clarice’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment and she waved a hand in the air. “It was probably going to be a stupid party anyways—”

John caught her hand and pulled her closer, really close. “I was hoping to go as your real boyfriend instead.”

“ _Oh_.” If it was possible, her face grew even hotter. “Well. That sounds good, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established Thunderblink.

When had the to-do list gotten this long? John ran the tip of a pen down the list, trying to take it all in. Most of the handwriting was his, but some of the notes had been jotted down by Lorna, Marcos, and Clarice, reminders that he had asked them to write down for him when he was too busy.  

Supply run to Athens, one of the kids had a cold and needed meds, they were running out of MREs, someone had blasted a hole in a wall so that needed to be patched, another mutant had set one of the rooms on fire and it needed to be cleaned. One of the computer screens had decided to die, it needed to be replaced.

Lightbulbs, extension cords, dog food, various things they needed. The battery in one of the trucks was crapping out. New fake license plates were needed. There was even a note in crayon about getting new toys, obviously written down by a kid, and that was funny and sad at the same time since there really weren’t enough toys at HQ for the refugee children.

John rapidly tapped his pen against the to-do list before grabbing another legal pad. He needed to go through the list, prioritize, plan. Figure out what needed to be done immediately and what could wait.

Hands landed on the other side of his desk, and he looked up at Clarice as she leaned toward him. “Hey, can you please kiss me real quick? It’s important.”

John raised an eyebrow, an unexpected grin popping onto his face. He met her halfway, getting out of his chair so he could properly kiss her across the desk. Her hand cupped his face, and the kiss deepened, pulling him out of his whirlwind of thoughts and grounding him in the moment. It was all he could to do keep himself from grabbing her and pulling her onto the desk.

“Better,” she said when they broke apart. She walked around the corner of the desk and ran her thumb across his forehead. “You were getting permanent frown lines. I saved you from looking like a sourpuss, so, you know, you’re welcome.”

John snorted. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Clarice smirked and reached over to pick up the massive to-do list. “Wow…this…hmm…”

John sat down on the edge of the desk as she leaned against it, their arms brushing. “It’s a lot.”

“No kidding.” Clarice let out a low whistle and then glanced at him. “You weren’t going to try to do all of it by yourself, were you?”

John rolled his eyes and nudged her. “No. Delegating is one of my skills.”

“Mmph…” Clarice didn’t sound convinced. “Well, let’s figure this out. Want some help?”

“Of course.” John picked up the blank legal pad and pen, ready to get to work.


	7. Word Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually sort of fits in the Among the Gifted series, but it's just so short!! :D Post-finale drabble-y thing.

“What’d you just say?”

“Mmm?” John lifted an eyebrow and turned toward Shatter, who was giving him an incredulous look. The two of them were hunting through a map of Georgia, trying to find a good place to move the Underground Headquarters, even if it was just temporary. Trying to coordinate this many people and the various way station locations was a headache, but it had to be done, and the sooner the better.

It had been two months since they had lost the original HQ to Sentinel Services, two months since Lorna had left, taking Sage, Fade, Andy… Since then, they had been moving around between Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina, not staying in one place for very long. It was starting to wear on everyone, especially the kids, but people were also deciding to stay at some of the way stations they were visiting.  It made it easier to move people, but it was also a reminder that everything was changed. It was so different now…

Shatter and John had been discussing a small suburb of Atlanta, one that was most likely too rich for them to be able to fit in. The only perk it had was that there was an abandoned school right on the edge of town, which would provide them with lots of rooms and space to work with. 

Unfortunately, it would probably be too hard to guard. Plus, the community would probably get suspicious fast, no matter what precautions they took.

Shatter leaned back in his chair and stared at John. “You just said ‘bougie.’ You called the suburb bougie.”

“I don’t remember that.” John reached over and sent the Google map in a new direction. “What about a different city?”

“No, you definitely said bougie,” Shatter said, “I’ve known you for four years, John, and you’ve never used the word bougie.”

“I must’ve picked it up somewhere,” John said absently, “What do you think about Macon? It’s farther south, which might be good since we’ll be closer to the border.”

“Oh, I know where you picked it up from,” Shatter said, looking back toward the computer screen, “Same place you picked up the word salty.”

“I already used the word salty.”

“Not to describe people. And I don’t even think you used it right.”

John shook his head, a reluctant smile on his face. He did too use it correctly, though it had sort of just slipped out. But that bastard back in Gatlinburg had been salty about the kids playing too loud. He had started yelling at them, which had riled up Clarice and hadn’t set too well with John, either, once he heard about it. They had left pretty quick after that.

“I’m expanding my vocabulary,” John said, “Okay?”

Shatter smirked. “I heard Clarice say something was FUBAR the other day.”

John glanced at him and grinned. “That would be a word she’d pick up…”


	8. Ferris Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #2 I don’t like heights but my friends pressured me onto the Ferris wheel, don’t laugh my knuckles aren’t that white from hanging onto the bar.
> 
> I messed with this just a bit since I think John’s probably actually okay with heights, but county fair Ferris Wheels? Nah… Little AU blurb that doesn’t fit into any of my other AUs. Just having fun. 

Clarice pulled off a section of her cotton candy and popped it into her mouth as she stepped forward, moving with Remy and Cecilia toward the Ferris Wheel. She was third-wheeling it with her older brother and his fiancé that evening, and while it was fun, she was definitely going to ride with someone else on this thing. She didn’t feel like being smushed against the side of the chair while they bantered and heart-eyed each other. There had to be another single rider out there, dragged along by couple-y friends, right? Yeah.

“I still say we should elope,” Cecilia was saying as she leaned against the thin metal railing of the ramp that led up to the county fair ride.

“We already put a payment down for that nice vineyard,” Remy said, “And Mama D might skin me alive if we just try and run off.”

“Oh, no, there’s no might,” Clarice said, “She’d totally destroy you.” Their foster mother was super sweet and kind, but you didn’t want to get on her bad side, and that’s right where Remy would go if he didn’t have a proper wedding. Mama D was too excited for their wedding for them to just bail.

“See?” Remy said, spreading his hands out to Cecilia, “You don’t want me to die before our big day, right?”

“It’d just be so much simpler,” Cecilia said, a slight wistful note in her voice.

There was a little more wedding talk, then they were at the entrance to the Ferris Wheel. “You sure you don’t want to squeeze in with us?” Cecilia asked, her hand on the gate.

Clarice shook her head. “There’s barely enough room for you guys.” Besides, now that she was up close, she could see some rusted parts on the old Ferris Wheel. Looked like the old girl was getting close to retirement. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

“All right…” The chair took off with the two of them and Clarice stepped off to the side.

“Single rider,” she told the worker, who shrugged, not seeming to care what she did as long as she didn’t get in the way.

“Anybody else a single rider?” the worker called.

There was some scuffling at the back, and a dark-haired boy in a leather jacket got shoved farther up the line. Another guy with dark haired gave a devilish grin and pointed at Leather Jacket. “He’s single!”

Leather Jacket looked torn between embarrassment and giving into an intense desire to toss his friend off the ramp. It was a good look.

He wound up edging through the line until he was standing beside her. Mmm, oh hey, it was an even better look up close. She glanced at her new riding buddy, who was apparently single. He glanced down at her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Mind if I ride with you?”

Clarice shrugged. “Why not. If you’re not a creep, I might even share my cotton candy.” She shook the bag and stepped off the platform and into the swinging chair. “I’m Clarice, by the way,” she said as he climbed in after her. She caught the way his brown eyes narrowed as he looked up at the way the chair was connected to the rest of the Ferris Wheel, how he reached out and ran his fingers over a rusted patch.

“I’m John,” he said, serious and tense.

The Ferris Wheel started again, moving forward so the next pair could get on, and John sat back, pressing against the flimsy chair. Clarice, on the other hand, leaned forward, her elbows resting on the safety bar.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” John said.

“I like to tempt fate,” Clarice said, but when she looked over at him and saw how anxious his eyes were, she leaned back. He had his hands on the safety bar, the skin over his knuckles going pale as he clung to it. “You okay?”

“No.”

“You don’t like heights?” Clarice untwirled her cotton candy bag and fished out a clump of it. “Here, sugar helps.”

“Um, thanks.” John managed to pry one hand off the safety bar, snatch the cotton candy, pop it into his mouth, and return the hand to the bar in about one second. “It’s not heights. It’s the Ferris Wheel.”

She grinned. “Oh, so you’re not a fan of rickety death traps?”

The look he gave her was full of such long-suffering pain that she felt a tiny bit bad about teasing him. But not too much. “Why are you up here if you don’t like Ferris Wheels?”

“Dare,” he said, “Marcos dared me.”

“So what are you going to dare him to do  in return?”

“Haven’t really found something of the same level yet,” John muttered.

“He could have to surf down the slide,” Clarice said, pointing over toward the huge slide off to the side of the fair. Their chair was climbing higher, giving them a good view of the fair and part of the town.

“He’s not that coordinated, he’d probably fly off and die, and then I’d feel like shit about it,” John said in such a dry, certain tone that Clarice laughed.

“Then let’s figure out something better.” It would give him something to think about besides the fact that they were on a super deadly Ferris Wheel, and it would allow her to get to know him a little better.

Sounded like a win-win to Clarice.


	9. Robin Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #8 “You’re a thief, and I’m the cop who’s always trying to catch you. You somehow got into the station and left a Valentine on my desk, and I probably shouldn’t be as impressed as I am.”
> 
> MWAHAHA, I looooove this prompt!!! Clarice is the thief and John’s the cop because she would totally push the envelope and leave a Valentine like that.I don’t know if I did it justice, but I tried. ^_^

John had a headache and that migraine-level Tylenol he had taken wasn’t even touching it. Last night, the cat burglar who had been driving the Atlanta Police Department crazy had struck again, this time busting into the mansion of a family who was heavily suspected to have connections to the cartels. The Guerras were pissed off, especially because the police had gotten involved, which meant the department could possibly investigate those cartel ties.

John kept finding himself assigned to cases where the thief was the probably culprit, seeing how she kept leaving that big spray paint circle tag on the floor of each place she hit. The only reason he knew the thief was a woman was because she had waved at a security camera one time, apparently not caring if she was caught on tape or not. She had been wearing a domino mask, though, so no one could properly ID her. A lot of the money she stole seemed to be feeding back into some of the less well-off parts of the city, so the media had taken to calling her Robin Hood, which was great PR for her…

At this point, he was pretty sure that he was just destined to catch her, it was just a matter of time. Half of the city supported her like she was some kind of vigilante while the other half wanted her behind bars. Seeing how she always stole from rich people, it was clear who was for her and who was against, for the most part.

“You look rough,” Marcos said as John walked over to his desk.

John frowned at his partner and sat down in his well-worn swivel chair. “Thanks, man. Really.”

“I mean, it’s like you laid down in the road and let a few cars run over you, you look that rough.” John glanced up at Marcos, who smirked back at him and held up a hand, feigning innocence. “Just saying, you could use a nap.”

“Maybe later.” For now he was going to get by on coffee and caffeine patches. He glanced over at Marcos’ desk and noticed the vase of flowers. He looked at them for a long moment, trying to figure out why they were there. 

“Think Lorna will like them?” Marcos asked, following his gaze. “She’s always saying not to get her anything for Valentine’s Day, but sunflowers are nice. And we’re going out to dinner.”

“Right.” Valentine’s Day, he had completely forgotten. Not that he was dating anyone right now, he had been single since he and Sonya had broken up a couple years ago. But it looked like someone in the office had gotten him something.

Sitting on the edge of his desk was a small bear, bright purple with a little bandit’s mask on. It was holding a tiny card in its lap. John smirked and picked up the mocking bear, knowing that someone was trying to goad him about not catching Robin Hood.

Marcos glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. “Who’s that from?”

“Not sure yet,” John said. He plucked the little card out of the bear’s lap and carefully pulled the tiny envelope open, trying not to rip it to shreds as he plucked the card out. It was a little doodled piece of cardstock. It smelled faintly of thyme.

_‘Stealing your heart for Valentine’s Day :P ~ Robin’_

John looked at the card for a long moment and then flicked his eyes at Marcos. “Funny.” He set the bear down and held the card up between his forefinger and middle finger. “I didn’t even know your handwriting was this neat.”

“That wasn’t me,” Marcos said.

John looked at the note again and got up, grabbing the bear. Thirty minutes later, he was sitting in front of the security feeds, rewinding back to early that morning when their office wasn’t busy and he was out investigating. That’s when he saw her head inside, slipping in through one of the back rooms and sauntering toward his desk. She looked like she belonged there in her suit and bun, but he recognized her instantly. The purple-haired Robin Hood put the small bear on his desk and then headed out the front, audacious and daring to the point where it was…awestriking.

“Damn…” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, cursing himself even as he smiled. That was something else. She was…wow.


End file.
